


Brothers

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-06
Updated: 2009-03-30
Packaged: 2019-01-19 15:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Living with James is like a holiday from reality/Rain. Pillow, towel, toothbrush, here, take the bed. "He'll be staying with us now," he says, and Sirius doesn't think he'll ever love anyone more// Drabbles on Padfoot&Prongs. SB.





	1. The Witching Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Living with James is like a holiday from reality. Everyday, it’s laughter, and jokes, and grins that don’t fade. Dawn to dusk. Dusk to dawn. Laugh until you cry. Everyday, there is no mention of fights, or betrayals, or disownment.

 

Sirius is happy there, in the sun where there is nothing but him and James, the boy he loves more than anyone in the world because he is his best friend, the one person who would stand at his back unconditionally. 

 

Twelve o’ clock, the witching hour, a cloak, wand in hand, a bruise forming darkly on a finely-boned cheek. Rain. Pillow, towel, toothbrush, here, take the bed. Silence. Sirius will never forget his gratitude to the boy with messy hair and crooked glasses for giving him that long night’s vigil of silence, as tears were stifled into a pillow. _Splish, splash._

 

All smiles the next morning. It’s like it never happened. Dorea doesn’t do much more than raise an eyebrow, and dish up another plate of bacon. Puts it in front of him, eat up. James announces, “Sirius came over last night. He’ll be staying with us now.” 

 

And just like that, he was one of them. He doesn’t think he’ll ever love anyone more.

 

They make it easy on him, makes it feels like as though he’s jumped off a 50-storey building, only to land on soft, white feathers. But summer ends someday, and when the light dimmed in the darkening sky, he had to tell them. “My uncle left me some money when he croaked it last month,” Sirius remarks casually to James one afternoon in April. “I’ll be getting an apartment for next summer. A pad in Hogsmeade near Zonko’s.” He tosses a nonchalant grin over his shoulder at James, pretends it doesn’t matter.

 

“What the hell for? You know we love having you.” The look on James’s face is an amalgam of baffled and angry, and it warms his heart. Here, _here_ is someone who would fight for him, who would want him to stay. Here, he matters more than a name.

 

“Yeah yeah, whatever. It’s just that we’re getting older you know. I want my own place, and-“ at this, he barks with amused laughter, “you know your Mum would never let me have girls over at yours.” James looks like he wants to argue, but Sirius overrides him. 

 

“It’ll be great.”


	2. October 31st, 1981

October 31st, 1981. Trick or Treat... Where’s Peter?

_James._


	3. The End of it All

November 1st, 1981. Pinch, punch, first day of the month. The Potters are dead.

When Sirius hears the day after All Hallow's Eve that everyone is naming him as the traitor, the bastard who sold Lily and James out, he is amazed. They must not have known him at all, he thinks, not in the slightest, to have been able to say that, because Sirius doesn't believe there's a single cell in him that could ever have brought itself to betray the boy who had in every way saved him, nor the girl who had loved him.

James. James. James, James, James, James.

James in first year, proffering Chocolate Frogs after that first, monumentally catastrophic day.

James in third year, the preadolescent rebel, eyes lit up under the secrecy of the Cloak with the gleam of adventure and the satisfaction of a prank well pulled.

James in fifth year, stupidly in love and brilliantly Pronged.

James in seventh year, Head Boy and terrified at the prospect, whispering quietly in the train if Sirius thinks he's ready for this.

James, in all his years and forms. Always James.

But where are you now Prongs?

It wasn't Remus. It had never been Remus, and the grief that seizes his heart and chokes him cripples him to the ground.

Pinch.  
Punch.

First day of the month...

The Potters are dead.

He doesnt fight when the Hit Wizards take him away.


End file.
